The Final Melody
by gangstapenguinduck lover
Summary: AU-H. Canon Pairs. Two teens with their own issues to deal with. He had lost his way, and she was trying to figure out which way to go. Can three months in the rainy town of Forks bring them together? "You don't scare me, Edward. You never will."
1. Prologue

I've been in a sort of writing mood. I'm not entirely sure how long it will last, but I'm getting this idea from several sources. Hopefully, this one turns out a lot better than my other attempts at stories. Haha. Thanks to those that have been following me all along; I love you guys. (: Oh, and I'm pretty sure this entire story will be EPOV. Different, maybe I'll be good at it.

Thanks to my new, fantastic beta, _**Mav**_. You rock, hun. (:

**Disclaimer**: Twilight and all its inclusive material are copyright to Stephenie Meyer; I do not own any aspect of the series nor do I make that claim. Also, this Disclaimer was borrowed from _Leon McFrenchington_, an awesome-tastic writer.

Original creations of this story, including, but not limited to, characters, settings, and plot, are copyright to me.

* * *

**The Final Melody**

**Prologue**

"_Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved."_  
--_Helen Keller

* * *

_

_**Return to**__ 13356 Point View Dr_  
_Forks, WA, 98331_

_Edward Cullen  
15254 Flippont Ct  
Chicago, IL, 60601_

_June 27, 2006_

Edward,

Please know that everything that happened between your father and I was simply as it was. Between us. It was never about you, and we will always love you no matter how foolish we are when it comes to our relationship. I just hope that we can all get past this and start on with our lives again.

I'm sorry that I won't be there to see you off to your first day of high school. Just know that I'm thinking of you, and love you always, honey. I look forward to seeing you next summer.

Until then,

Mom

_--  
__**Return to**__ 13356 Point View Dr  
Forks, WA, 98331_

_Edward Cullen  
15254 Flippont Ct  
Chicago, IL, 60601_

_May 30, 2010_

Edward,

I'm extremely sorry that things haven't worked out over the years. I continue to think of you, write to you, and hope that someday you'll write me back. But this time is different—you're really coming here! I'm so excited to show you everything about the town, and I can't wait to see you again. I can only imagine how you've grown.

I know you're probably angry with me, but I hope that we can fix that and learn about each other again. You can tell me all about your senior year! I know that your father must have had you apply to all sorts of colleges.

Well, now I'm rambling. I really miss you, and I'm counting the days until your plane arrives here.

With all my love,

Mom

_--_

_June 16, 2010_

If there was one thing that I could permanently remove from my life, it would be Forks, Washington. Even as I waited at the airport, the strong smell of damp earth and mold invaded my senses, making me wish that I was anywhere but there. My mom had a sick sense of humor in moving back to my childhood home. All I knew was that I was out of here in three months, when my dad would come to pick me up from my mother. Their reunion wasn't something any of us looked forward to.

There was something in the air, apparently. Couples were leaving or getting off, their frantic and palpable love surrounding them like perfume. It made my skin itch with irritation. All I'd ever known was the constant and persistent arguments of my parents filtering in through too thin walls late at night. To see others so happy was almost blasphemous to me.

"Edward?"

I turned, my luggage swinging into my leg as my mom stood there, bouncing from foot to foot, unsure of herself. She was covered in paint, her overalls stained colors varying from burgundy to beige. Her hair—which I'd inherited—was a mess, bundled on top of her head in a haphazard bun. But her face; the most beautiful smile spread across her lips, and her clear skin absolutely shone with happiness. It was enough to break anyone's heart and make them crack, but I stood strong.

"Hello, mother," I responded politely, giving her an awkward pat when she rushed into my arms. It wasn't that I didn't love her—I was ecstatic after having not seen her for the past four years. But with every happy moment, there is a nagging weight pulling behind it. Reality sets in, and that state of mind—_happiness_—is taken over by something heavier, something darker.

Those moments were more personal for me. In life, you have many perspectives. The only time that you can really see out of your shell is if you take on a new perspective. All my life I'd had to do that—dad was in a constant hurry to have me fulfill my doctorate degree before I could even _get _to college. So when I had time, in my mind, to myself, these rare occasions in which my perspective was my own, it wasn't something I took lightly.

And that's probably why I shirked mom's lips as she went to give me a kiss on the cheek. I turned my head away, unable to bear seeing the hurt in her eyes as she leaned away, bouncing again.

"Well, the car's this way," she said, her chipper voice deflating right before me. I felt bad, but I wasn't going to take anything back, or change who I'd become. Dad always taught me to never regret any decisions made. You couldn't in our line of work, he used to say.

We got into a tiny little car, a blue Honda with fading paint and rusty doors. It was so like my mother that it was almost comical. Even the inside represented her carefree nature: zebra print chair covers, a fuzzy wheel thong, groovy dice hanging from the rear view mirror… It was all so hipster-style that I had almost forgotten who I was getting in the car with.

She turned the key in the ignition, blowing her hair back from her face. Already the humidity was getting to me; I could feel the sweat forming on my brow and upper lip. My hand itched toward the dial for air conditioning, but my mother beat me to it.

"Doesn't work," she said offhandedly. "Broke about seven months ago when a friend accidentally stuffed a cigar into the CD player."

Horrified, I gave her a look, losing the small bit of faith that I'd had in her as a caring mother. Should I really be with someone who'd hang out with people that stuffed _cigars _into the _car CD player_?!

She laughed, the sound reverberating, despite the fact that she had the windows rolled down. Everything we passed was smothered in green, like one big monster had vomited on the entire town. It was wet, and hot, and all I could think of was the fact that I'd be out of there in three months. _Three months, three months, three months…_

While I leaned my head against the car door, trying to gulp air that wasn't condensed with enough moisture to choke me, I gazed at my mother. She hadn't really changed all that much, and I hadn't expected her to. Okay, maybe I did. It's just that, when my mom divorced my father, I never thought that she would be the same. I wanted to believe that they would both be so crushed by what they had done that they wouldn't continue to be the same people, or do the same things. My dad had proven me wrong within the first month; my mom was quickly doing that, too. And again, since their final fight, that tightening started in my chest, which told me that it was time to stop thinking about it. Because when I thought about it, it brought on the _what ifs_, and the _could haves _and _should haves_ and it was all just too much.

Mom drove in silence, not bothering to turn on the radio. It wasn't uncomfortable, per se, but I could tell that there was tension between us. She was probably wondering when I was going to blow up and run away from her—or, at least, if she'd talked to my dad that would be what she'd expect. Anything and everything about me had been driven out of my body the night that she got into dad's car and drove away. I was a new me, now.

We reached the house a little before sunset. The trees shaded everything enough that I could only make out the elegant shape of the three-story home, painted white but now chipping. It was all familiar, down to my boyishly decorated room that I placed my things in as soon as I reached the third landing. From where I was, I could see over the tree tops and onto the horizon, the creek waiting for me below. A strange feeling crept over me, as if the house, my former room, and the woods were all welcoming me back, like a long-awaited reunion. Quickly, I dashed back downstairs, away from the warmth to find my mom in the kitchen, humming quietly to herself.

Despite my many annoyances with my parents since the divorce, one thing had never been given up: their love for Elvis Presley. They were so obsessed with the poor rock star that he'd even had his own special space back at our Chicago home. If you even thought about contaminating or ruining it in any way, shape, or form, it was off with your head. Therefore, to lean against the frame of the doorway and close my eyes, just listening to mom sing along to her own tune of "Burning Love," was like coming home to _them_. Not just her and this house.

"Your kisses lift me higher!" she crooned, shaking her hips. "Like the sweet song of a choir!" And she was totally off key. The tune was all wrong, and the radio which softly emanated Elvis's voice was drowned out by her screeching. But I couldn't find it more endearing.

"You light my morning sky…with burning love."

It was their song. I knew it—and she knew it, too. Maybe that's why she was singing it. I didn't know. But I opened my eyes to find her smiling at me, the smell coming from the pan that she was cooking in making my mouth water. She still had on her coveralls and she looked ridiculous. But no one could doubt it; this was definitely my mom.

I turned, leaving her to her celebrity lover and the stove. My hands itched, and my fingers twitched with an ache that built in me. I knew if I walked up the stairs, past the third landing doors, I would reach the baby grand, whom I'd named after my last goldfish.

I forced my feet to my room, demanding that my hands shut and cover the familiar view, dictating my body to sleep, to rest. Because I was a new person, and I didn't write music.

Not anymore.

--

_August 2, 2045_

She could feel that there was something glued to the next few pages, and she grew curious. The girl tenderly lifted the page, attempting to sneak a look at the next few words on the other side. Before she could even catch a glimpse, the boy snatched the leather-bound journal from her hands, narrowing his eyes at her.

"I just wanted to see what happened!" she whined, her hands reaching for the book again. He held it away from her, standing and running clumsy fingers through his unruly hair.

"Tomorrow. You just have to be patient; we promised that we would do one day at a time."

"Who's Ed—" the girl stopped for a moment, her lips trying to sound out the words on the front of the leather, "Edward Cullen?"

"Dunno. Who cares?"

The boy wiped his hands on his pants, aware of how sticky it was in the attic. Everything up there was covered in white sheets, resting on top of furniture long forgotten. But the heat couldn't be escaped, like the memories of the room had been, and the two kids—barely over the age of twelve—were extremely close to collapsing together in a sweaty mess.

"Two days," the girl pouted, watching with longing eyes as the boy carefully slipped the journal back onto a shelf.

The boy narrowed his eyes again, this time folding his arms awkwardly against his chest. "One."

"Three."

"Fine, two then. But we really need to get home before—"

"Race you there!"

The girl took off, her limbs tangling with his as she tried to push by him, their loud footsteps echoing as they ran out of the house, into the woods. They had kicked up enough dust and air in the attic that it swirled around before settled back onto the linen. The edge of one sheet fluttered up enough to reveal a smooth, silken black surface.


	2. Adjust

As always, thanks to the reviewers.

Thanks to my fantastic beta, _**Mav**_. You rock, hun. (:

**Disclaimer**: Twilight and all its inclusive material are copyright to Stephenie Meyer; I do not own any aspect of the series nor do I make that claim. Also, this Disclaimer was borrowed from _Leon McFrenchington_, an awesome-tastic writer.

Original creations of this story, including, but not limited to, characters, settings, and plot, are copyright to me.

* * *

**The Final Melody**

**Adjust**

"_It's not that some people have willpower and some don't. It's that some people are ready to change and others are not."_  
--_James Gordon

* * *

_

_June 17, 2010_

I woke abruptly, my head aching. Dreams didn't often accompany me into sleep, but when they did, they were never peaceful. Just like reliving the six months of divorce paperwork and emotional turmoil in one night wasn't peaceful. It must have been something in the water, because I stopped having those nightmares back in freshman year of high school.

Everything was silent in the house. There were no clocks chiming, telling me that I was late for something; no dogs to wake me up when they needed to go out; no grumbling, blank-faced father to yell at me every time I did something wrong. It was nice, I thought, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Just to get up on my own time and not have to worry about some things for a change. It was nice.

Running a hand through my hair, I dragged myself to the bathroom, flicking on the light and then subsequently wincing as the harsh glare burned my eyes. They adjusted slowly, but when they had, I reached a hand over to turn the knob on the shower. As the water started flowing, I took a quick second to glance at myself in the mirror.

Normally I looked pretty average. Nothing out of the normal, my father had always told me. (Coming from the sex God business man himself, I had to take his word for it.) I'd inherited my mother's hair, which was a weird shade of red mixed with brown, making it look like I was a confused redhead. Or a rusty nail, but I preferred the confused redhead metaphor. Alongside that, I had my father's high cheekbones and jaw, whereas my mother gave me—yet again—her eye color and strong lashes. My nose had a slight crook to it, making everything about my face seem off-kilter to me.

But nothing about these features caught my gaze. I knew that appearances weren't everything—I'd learned that very early on in my life. No, it was the fact that all of these traits combined to give me a view of a very sad and anxious looking young man. A kid—who hardly knew what to do with himself—that didn't really know if he _wanted _to know what to do with himself. Confused, estranged, and bitterly angry, that's what he was. He was a sad excuse for a human being.

I sighed, throwing a leg under the spray of the shower, the rest of my body following. It was lukewarm and made me shiver, but I didn't really care enough to get out. I could always get out when I started to lose feeling in my body.

--

When I came downstairs forty-five minutes later, the house was still quiet. Not a sound could be heard, save for the swaying trees outside, the creek making enough noise to drown out the silence. I knew that my mom wouldn't have just up and left me by myself without an explanation, but some nagging part of me—maybe my stomach, because I was pretty hungry to tell the truth—convinced myself that she had left in that little blue Honda, and she wasn't coming back.

"Mom?" I called out, tentatively.

No one answered.

Frantically—and yet, trying to remain calm to resist looking like I was mad—I searched for her, passing through the kitchen immediately and then stopping just as fast. There, on the counter, was a stack of pancakes, the very top one holding a smiley face with strawberries and melting whipped cream, just like she made when I was real little. Next to the plate was a hand written note, the writing almost completely perfect; it resembled my own calligraphy-induced penmanship. The note read:

_Edward, my love,_

_Mrs. Clearwater down at the Res needed some gardening tools. I ran down to drop them off, but don't worry if I don't come back too soon. She's a chatter, and I'd hate to leave her all by herself. I left the Volvo in the garage in case you wanted to go out and explore.  
I love you,_

_Mom_

Laughing outright at my ridiculousness, I shook my head. Of course she was only out at the Res. She'd told me in one of her billion letters that Harry Clearwater had passed away about a year ago, and she was helping Sue get her life back on track. From what she had described in her letters, Sue, after she had pretty much gotten over Harry the best she could, wouldn't stop talking. She talked about everything and everyone, and when she was on a roll, just no one could stop her. Suffice to say, I expected my mom to be held up for half of the day, at least.

The lure of the Volvo, the only other car my mother owned, was pretty strong. I didn't want to stay cooped up in that house all day, trying to avoid memories that I had long deemed best left forgotten. Since walking everywhere on foot would be kind of pointless, it was only reasonable to take the car.

My mother loved using that reverse psychology crap on me. She _knew _I'd want to drive the Volvo. She hadn't even told me that she'd kept it after she divorced dad.

I snatched the keys off of the counter, my stride determined as I pushed the garage-door button, the humidity of the day smacking me in the face as soon as it was open. As my eyes adjusted to the change, all I could see was green. Green moss, green tree trunks, green driveway…a never ending mess of green that I was smack in the middle of. Like a world of seaweed, and I was a fish, struggling to get out of the tempting shelter it had once seemed to offer.

_God; being around my mother too much has me on the metaphors again._

Sliding into the front seat, I exhaled, loving the feel of the leather. I'd been coveting this car since I was old enough to even touch the steering wheel; they had bought it for me just before the divorce. When they did break up, dad didn't want me to keep something that had been—mostly—my mother's idea to get for me. So the car went with her, hers to do whatever she wanted to. I'd just thought that she'd sold it. Dad had hinted as much.

Buckling myself in, I jammed the keys into the ignition, immediately backing out of the garage and onto the gravel that led to the town roads. I winced, knowing that I was definitely scratching up wheels that hadn't been used since 2007, but I figured I'd get over it. Eventually.

Once on the black pavement, I reveled in the smooth transition the car held. I'd only gotten to drive that baby once before it was taken away from me, and it felt like being given back the greatest present in the world. No one could replace the feel of the engine, or the way my body fit into _that specific _seat. It was awesome. And I think I might have forgiven my mom—just a little bit—for letting me have it back.

After the initial shock of the car wore off, I didn't have a clue where to go. I could head into town, buy a few groceries for myself, but that seemed like a daunting task. There wasn't much to do in Forks, never really had been. As a little kid, I'd been pretty damn content to just gallivant through the woods and pretend that I was Robin Hood; but at nineteen, that wasn't going to cut it for me.

I found myself driving down to the Res, the little Indian Reservation situated just outside of Forks. There were a bunch of natives there that had been living there for as long as I could remember. Through generations the land had been passed down from father to son and so on, leaving a lot of the founding families still tied to the area. Families such as the Clearwaters.

It was no surprise when I ended up there, the small house hanging on, just barely. It looked like it had gone through a hurricane, and the lawn hadn't been mowed since God knows when. I could remember that Sue had two kids, a boy and a girl—why hadn't they helped her a little with the yard or something? Even I wasn't that much of a bitch to my mom not to help around the house. It wasn't that big of a deal to me, not really.

Gently, I rapped on the door, hearing my mother's laughter from inside. She knew that I didn't have anywhere to go, and that I would probably go there, especially when she opened the door and polite surprise covered her face. The smile that we shared grew on her face and there was no doubt that she had planned for all of this to happen. _Stupid, stupid me._

"Edward!" she said, waving me in and motioning for me to take off my shoes. Furrowing my brow, I did so, getting pushed and pulled as she lugged me into the living room and plopped me down onto a well worn couch. "How nice of you to visit."

If anything, Sue Clearwater had been a beautiful woman. She had graying hair from her age, but it had at one point in time been a lovely shade of blond. Not platinum, like you see in the magazines, but very natural, a shade or two lighter than her darkened skin. She was slender, but in a frail kind of way, the kind that makes you think of grandmothers and great-grandmothers. From what I could tell, she didn't put much effort in trying to look nice for anyone, but she had a natural beauty in the face. Gentle features and cunning eyes watched my expression as my mother sat down next to me, folding her hands in her lap.

"Edward, it's been a long time," Sue said, clasping her hands around her knees, "Your mother has been telling me all about you."

"Yeah," I responded, not really sure what to say. Do I acknowledge the fact that they were gossiping about me?

"But what I was telling you, Liz, dear, was about the Chief's daughter? Down in Forks?"

My mother nodded knowingly. I sat back, utterly confused and content to just stay out of the conversation all together.

"Well, I heard that Mike Newton asked her to marry him. That poor boy—never stood a chance with that one. The Chief was always saying how glad he was that she's waiting to date until college, but I worry _for _him."

_So this is what old women do when they don't have lives._

Mom nodded again, leaning forward like she had a big secret to tell. "She's a pretty girl. But she was always a bit…off, don't you know? You'd never see her hanging around with the other kids much, and she always had her tiny little nose in the books!"

They laughed.

_God, help me._

"Jacob there was taken with her, too, though."

"Billy's son?"

The vague image of a runt with russet skin and long, dark hair filled my mind. Jacob and Billy Black. They owned the garage down the street that anyone—whether you lived in Forks or on the Res—went to if they had car trouble. Jacob had been a play mate back when we were younger, and then right before I moved he met Embry Call. Jealous as I was back then, that my best friend was hanging out with another, older kid, I wouldn't talk to him for the days leading up to our move. We haven't really spoken since then, so I didn't know how he was doing, other than what mom told me in the letters.

"I thought that he and Leah were…well," my mother tutted, her eyes skirting around. So, apparently, Leah must have been home. That was her name, Leah. I remembered now: a petite girl, wearing boy's trousers and a Bob Marley t-shirt too big for her to even walk in. She wanted to hang out with Jacob and I, but back then, girls still had cooties. It was always Jacob, Seth—her brother—and I finding ways to keep her out of whatever we were doing. It had been fun trying to avoid her, and then downright annoying when she went and told on us to Sue.

_Girls_, I scoffed.

"I'm not sure. She's been fickle about it, can't seem to make up her mind. She doesn't like the fact that he's still friends with Bella after everything that went down between them."

"Something happened?"

"Well, from what I understand, Leah _thinks _something happened but I don't—"

"_Mom!_ _I can hear you, you know!_"

Both women cringed, sitting back from their previously heated conversation. They looked sheepish, served them right. If my dad and his buddies ever started talking about my love life then I would be downright pissed. It was not for parents to get involved with our lives unless we asked them to. When we were old enough to know right from wrong, we could make our own decisions without our parents interfering, enough to cause a disturbance. So seeing their expressions change to that of a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar was comical.

Leah stomped down the stairs promptly after that, glaring at the two women before us.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" she growled, narrowing her eyes at her mother. Sue shrugged, trying to placate her daughter.

"You know I just worry about you, honey."

"Why can't you ever bug _Seth _about his life?"

"Because you know all he does is hang out with Embry and them. I already know what's going on in his life. You make everything so much more fun by making it a secret, dear."  
She sighed, rubbing her eyes and then staring at me.

"Who're you?" she demanded, cocking a hip to the side and attempted to stare me down. I stared right back, nonchalant, even as my mother chastised her behavior. Leah hadn't really grown up all that much—the only difference I could see was that she got taller, and gained some semblance of fashion sense. No more Bob Marley.

"What, you don't recognize your childhood sweetheart?" I replied, forcing a bit of snark into my answer.

Her eyebrow arched, and her mouth opened impossibly wider. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Really, now? Edward Cullen back in Forks? It must be the apocalypse."

"Glad to see you haven't lost your love of sarcasm, Leah."

"Glad to see you're still a dick, Edward."

"Leah Clearwater!" Sue screeched, jumping off the sofa and almost toppling over sideways with the movement. Leah was already gone through a swinging door that I assumed led to the kitchen. My mother shot me an embarrassed look, her mouth set in a stern line. I knew that she didn't like what I had said, but hey, Leah had started it. It wasn't exactly my fault that she couldn't get over her crush on me when we were kids.

"Edward," she said in a low voice, "That wasn't nice. If she comes back out here, you need to apologize. Sue's got enough on her plate right now without a fuss."

"It wasn't my fault," I hissed.

She leaned back, shaking her head. "Doesn't matter, Edward. It's the principle of the thing."

"I don't need to apologize for something I didn't do."

Suddenly, I was very tired. Mom hadn't done anything to make me angry; she wasn't even upset that Dad hadn't sent me to visit her until now. I was nineteen and fully capable of getting a taxi and driving down to the first airport that I could. Of course, Dad had threatened to take away any chance I had at going to college, but if I wanted to, I could. That was all that mattered to me as I stood and walked out of the dingy little house, hearing Leah scream at her mother about wanting to move on from her father's death, and not being able to take her moping around the house any longer.

I passed my mom's car with her frilly fru-fru junk stuffed in it, wondering why I couldn't have done anything to make their relationship better. How stupid of me was it to come to my mother, seeking the comfort that I hadn't really been given for the years of turmoil they spent together? This place wasn't for me. My mom couldn't do anything to change me that my dad hadn't already tried. I knew what they were doing, and it wasn't going to work. Not this time, not ever. Not even when I moved away from both of them, got my degree, and did exactly what my father had always wanted me to do.

I was a slave of life, and I was helpless to stop it.

--

I didn't go home right away. I knew that mom would excuse herself and then find a way to track me down in a matter of minutes if I even went anywhere in Forks. I drove around the Res, looking for something to do, when a sign caught my eye:

_Cliff Diving, Tomorrow at Noon. Five bucks for instruction._

I laughed, mostly to myself. Back when I lived here before, you didn't need to pay to go cliff diving. You simply did it. The only thing that you could do around the Res that required money was rock climbing and that was only because you had to pay to rent the gear. As I looked out over the cliffs, the little shack for the diving instruction boarded up and closed, I felt restless. I wanted to go cliff diving without anyone's instruction. And I wanted to climb walls without any gear on. Anything that would up the ante a little.

There was only one place to get the gear for rock climbing, and at the time, it had seemed like such a good idea. Driving recklessly around deserted streets didn't hold as much of a thrill as it did in the city. No one to race, really, except for maybe a passing deer. I always won.

Newton's was open, just as I suspected it would be. There were four cars parked outside, and one of them had to have been the oldest truck that I had ever seen. Rusty and painted a ridiculously fading red color, it must have been picked up in the sixties. I had no clue who would even bother trying to ride around in that thing. It was practically a hazard to one's health.

The little door bell rang as I pushed it open, averting my eyes when a blond haired boy with bright blue eyes smiled and waved at me. Forks had always been a friendly bunch, I thought, moving swiftly down the aisles to the harness rack. I could hear people talking up front, and a couple came in a moment later, talking to the boy. My gaze caught a brunette running something into the back before she disappeared.

I refocused, remembering that it was only a matter of time before my mom found me. Grabbing the harness and some chalk, I brought them up to the front, pulling my wallet out and glancing at the registrar for a moment.

"Just renting or buying?" the kid asked, looking at me curiously.

I thought about it. "Buying."

"That'll be seventy-six, fifty-five, sir. And if you want lessons, we have an awesome instructor in the back. She can take you to some pretty good climbs up behind the store." He motioned to the girl that I could see was stocking something behind a halfway-open door.

I shook my head, taking the bag he held out for me. "No, thank you."

"You sure? Because she doesn't mind. Do ya, Bells?"

"What?" a faint voice called, a head starting to appear from behind the door.

"Yeah, I'm sure," I murmured, shaking my head again. The guy probably thought, hey, a city guy can't climb fucking rocks. So let's get the girl to show him how to do it, eh? That would be a good laugh. Everything was pissing me off, and I just needed to get out of there.

"Okay, man," he called, "Have a nice day."

_I hate Forks._

--

_August 3, 2045_

The girl laughed as she went to turn to the next page, but the boy shook his head, exhausted. "We've read enough for today. How about we finish tomorrow, and then we can read the other two days?"

The girl, obviously annoyed, pushed the boy off of the couch and narrowed her gaze at him. He had promised her not even yesterday that they would read two days, every day until they finished the journal. Now he was trying to back out of the claim? What a poser.

"No way. You promised. Plus, mom said that we don't have to be home for another hour."

"I know, but it's so _boring_," he whined, huffing from the dusty floor. He sneezed for a good few minutes before adding, "There's no action. No build up, just a lonely guy writing out his frustration."

"I think there's more to it," the girl disagreed. "Nobody saves something like this unless it's special."

The boy sat up. "Not true. Mom saved that apple pie she made, and it was _not _special. She can't cook pies to save her life."

"Whatever," the girl grumbled, closing the journal and hugging it. She didn't want to let go. She wanted to know the nineteen year old guy whose journal they were reading, not be stuck with her annoying brother and all of his comments on how boring their summer was going to be.

"I bet it's a love story," she added. "The best love stories are real."

"Gross," the boy retched.

"You're gross!" She stuck out her tongue, and was then chased back down the stairs by her twin, leaving the book lying on a dusty old sofa. Awaiting tomorrow.


	3. Abnormal

Thanks for the reviews, guys.

Thanks to _**Mav**_, who's been helping me clean this little number up. (: She's awesome--praise her. I'm serious.

**Disclaimer**: Twilight and all its inclusive material are copyright to Stephenie Meyer; I do not own any aspect of the series nor do I make that claim. Also, this Disclaimer was borrowed from _Leon McFrenchington_, an awesome-tastic writer.

Original creations of this story, including, but not limited to, characters, settings, and plot, are copyright to me.

* * *

**The Final Melody  
**

**Abnormal**

_"The body says what words cannot."__  
--Martha Graham

* * *

  
June 17, 2010_

She was so quiet it was almost unnerving. I sat at the table, completely convinced that she was playing some sort of cat and mouse game in which I would invariably be the one to get caught. Our forks clinked against the plates loudly, and I could hear her swallow every slow, meticulous mouthful that she brought to her lips. My fingers tapped against the table, the pads of them making the noise inaudible. Yet, it was all I could focus on, the steady rhythm as I waited for her to say something—anything.

_Tap, scrape, tap, scrape, tap…_

I looked up, watching as she moved the corn on her plate around. I glanced at the clock above the refrigerator.

_Tap, scrape, tap, tap, tap…_

My stomach twisted in nervous knots. Even my father's previous punishments hadn't been as torturous as this silent treatment. No one had ever given me the silent treatment. They were too busy trying to slay me with words, shout loud enough so that, maybe, their meaning would come across clear as day. I think a lot of the people like that secretly used it as some type of therapy against people like me, the trouble-makers. All I'd ever gotten out of it was a sore ear and endless days of hearing little at a time.

But now, as I waited out this dinner—which, we both knew wasn't what it really was: a reunion night for us—I couldn't seem to _stop _hearing things, especially when it came to noises made in her direction. Every sound, every slight nudge of her fork, had me on edge.

_Tap, tap, tap…_

"So, Edward."

I froze, my hands stilling against the wood. "Yes?"

"How was your first day back?"

I let out a disbelieving breath of air. So this was what she had to lay on me? No speech about the responsibilities of being an adult, about coming home on time, about learning to study or do my chores—nothing? Maybe she was working up to it. For as long as I'd known my mother, she always had an ulterior motive for everything, even if it was just a random conversation with her son. And she _knew _that she was scaring me, and that was what ticked me off.

"It was okay." I shrugged, feigning indifference.

Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly at me, just enough to make my heart start hammering in my chest. _She knew I went rock climbing. I left the bag lying right by the front door. It's not a big deal—unless she thought it was? Christ, I don't see the woman for four years, how the hell am I supposed to know what her rules are? _Of course, I probably would have broken them nonetheless, but that wasn't really the point. I had to at least give the impression that I was going to obey their instructions, otherwise they'd never let me out of the birdhouse.

My mother didn't say anything else. She cleared my plate away, did the dishes, and left me to myself, not speaking a word about where I had been, what I had been up to, or even making me apologize to her about how I acted at the Clearwaters' house. It was nice not to be yelled at, like my father would have done, but at the same time I couldn't help but feeling guilty, knowing that it was exactly what she wanted me to feel.

I swear, my mom must have majored in psychology at some point in her college career.

_Must be a maternal thing_, I thought, hiding out in my room. She wouldn't bug me there, I knew it, but that didn't make the gesture any less rude. It told her that I didn't want to talk if she had a sudden epiphany and decided that she wanted to chew my ass out for not coming home or for apologizing. Not that I thought she would do that anyway.

God, I was already going crazy. I hadn't even been there a day and I was turning over a new leaf, trying to appease my mother and feeling guilty about crap that I wouldn't have otherwise. I'd always held a soft spot for my mom, but this was just ridiculous.

_I need to get out of Forks. _And fast, I told myself, falling into a fitful sleep.

--

_June 18, 2010_

I was incredibly sore. I'd found some good rocks the day before that weren't all that bad to have a short little climb on, and then gave up on the rough terrain, opting for the more contemporary rock-climbing gyms in the greater Port Angeles area. I spent a few good hours there, thus leading to the pain in every motion I made as I went to brush my teeth in the sink.

_Never again_, I vowed, wincing as I tried to tug my shirt over my head. It wasn't the fact that it had been a hard climb at all—I just hadn't worked out in over a year. Sure, I had played pick up games of baseball and basketball here and there back home, but nothing too serious. I'd been in better shape before, but the stress of working out as well as trying to please my father with my studies and internship, was just too much. He was even so bold as to suggest that I simply take pills that would "keep the fat off for you." What a load of bull. I never bought into that crap anyway.

Mom was downstairs in the kitchen, and I could hear her singing again. It was another Elvis tune, more recognizable this time. I guessed that she was doing it to wake me up, because she wasn't usually as loud as she was being. Or maybe that's just how she was in the mornings. I sincerely hoped not, I thought as I trudged downstairs, pulling a clean shirt over my head.

"_You ain't nothin' but a hound dog. Cryin' all the time. Well, you ain't never caught a rabbit and you ain't no friend o' mine._"

I rolled my eyes despite the smile that stretched across my mouth. I pushed open the door, quiet as ever, and nearly laughed outright at the sight. My mom was—or had been—mopping, until the chorus hit and she swung the handle towards her lips, singing the words above the crackling record that was playing in an ancient runner over in the corner of the room. It was all very picturesque in a way that would make it unbelievable, had I not been experiencing it for myself. My mother was so completely unaware some of the time that I worried she wouldn't even notice if someone barged in and stole her breath away, right out of her lungs.

Of course, that might not have been possible with the way she was belting out those Elvis lyrics. It was a wonder she didn't collapse.

I backed out of the kitchen, grabbing the keys to the Volvo and starting toward the front door. I couldn't take the car, since that would obviously alert my mom to my escape. But I could, however, go out the front door and walk to the nearest breakfast bar.

Or, at least, that had been my plan before I bumped into _her_.

I wasn't looking—something moving in my peripherals caught my gaze. I'd thought it was my mother, the vague impression of the swinging door moving into my field of vision, and I hurried to get out of the house before she caught me. I barreled through the opening, my arm reaching out to close the door—

"Oh, God, ouch!"

"What the—" I stumbled, immediately gripping the flesh of the tiny little thing I had rammed into, nearly falling over in the process. When I'd regained my balance enough to step back and pull the person up with me, I realized that it was a girl, probably around my own age. She was carrying a plate of something—they looked like brownies—and she was protecting it like they were her children.

"Oh, um, wow, I'm really sorry," she stuttered.

She shuffled away from me, the brownies held in a vice like grip. I stared, too surprised and mortified to say anything. That is, until I heard the door open and my mother's voice seep out of the crack like honey.

"Edward, I didn't know that you were up." She took a step forward, and I could tell from her tone that I was in deep shit. Fortunately for me, she took that moment to notice our company. "Bella! I didn't even see you! Come on in, come on in," she ushered the girl inside, shooting me a glance that was meant to say, _You're not going anywhere. Get your ass inside. _

I sighed, following the pair into the informal dining room and shutting the door behind me. I heard the girl speaking, and took that as my cue to remain silent and in my mother's line of sight.

"Sorry, Liz. I can come back later if it's more convenient for you—"

"Oh, don't worry; I was just cleaning the kitchen. And I can only presume Edward was going to go out for some groceries." Her green eyes found mine, a threat held in them. She knew I was trying to sneak out and got caught in the act. If it hadn't been for that girl…

I appraised her while they moved to the living room, the girl—Bella, was that her name?—taking a seat as if she lived there. Although I wasn't one for gaudy shows of fashion and extreme displays of makeup on women, Bella didn't seem to care about her appearance _at all_. She had deep, dark brown hair that looked like it had seen better days, held up in a haphazard mess on top of her head. While she talked to my mother, I could see that she had relatively clear skin, but didn't bother to enhance any of her naturally pretty features with eyeliner or any of that other crap. I was already guessing that her closet was filled with jeans and t-shirts and ratty sweatshirts.

It was so different from what I was accustomed to that the only word that would register in my mind was _abnormal. _Teenage girls were obsessed with the kind of stuff that she didn't seem to have an interest in. Or maybe she did and I was just seeing her in a rare state. But something in my gut told me that this Bella—I vaguely wondered if it was the same Bella my mother had been talking about previously—wasn't like that.

And it piqued my interest.

"How's Charlie?" Mom asked her, unwrapping what I had assumed correctly to be brownies.

Bella reached for one, crossing her feet in the chair, her shoulders slouching. "He's good. Eats too much red meat, but he's been pretty good."

"What about you? Sue told me the other day—"

"You and Sue gossip too much. Jessica would love you guys if she actually wanted to talk to anyone over the age of thirty." Bella made a face, nibbling on the chocolate.

From where I stood, it was abundantly clear that Bella had no interest in me, whatsoever. And while that was rather refreshing somewhat, it annoyed me; I was used to everyone knowing what I was up to, or _wanting _to know what I was up to. This girl simply barges into what was supposed to be my home, unannounced, acting like she was _my _mother's child and doesn't even have the common courtesy to appear intrigued by my unnatural presence here? I mean, _what the hell?_

"Edward?"

My mom's voice brought me out of my thoughts. I hadn't realized that I'd been standing there, staring at them for the amount of time that they'd been talking. My gaze drifted from my mother over to Bella, who stared right back at me. There was no hint of lust or curiosity or confusion in her eyes. No hint of something deceptive, or even coyness. They were straight forward, looking right through me.

I cleared my throat. She looked down. "Uh, yeah?"

"This is Bella Swan. Her father's the Chief of Police in Forks and she's one of my closest friends here." Mom grinned at Bella who looked away, red staining her cheeks. It crept up her neck and ears, turning her into a bashful lobster.

"Hi," I said, taking a seat on the couch nearest her. I stretched out my legs, unable to touch her in any way since she was so compressed into the tiny chair.

"Hello," she responded politely, allowing me a smile. Even though it was a nice gesture, I found it troubling me. It was entirely too fake, too forced. I tried to think back to when we had lived there before—I hadn't done anything to her, had I? I mean, I knew that Leah and I had our quarrels, but the name Bella Swan didn't ring a bell. So why was I getting the cold shoulder from her?

"Edward's staying with me for the summer," mom explained, grabbing for her third brownie. "His father wanted to see him spend time with me before he went off to become a big surgeon."

She smiled, and the guilt consumed me in waves. She made it sound like I didn't _want _to spend time with her and that I was being told to come visit her by my father. Which, I sort of was, but at the same time, she knew I loved her. So why was she making it sound like I was such a dick? I didn't want to look like a dick in front of this girl. This abnormal girl that liked the Patriots and the Yankees at the same time; her baseball cap and sweatshirt said so.

"That's cool," Bella ventured, nodding, "Dr. Cullen is pretty great… You should take Edward to meet him sometime," she directed at my mother. Mom's eyes lit up like the forth of July. My head was still spinning around the way Bella said my name.

"I hadn't thought of that. You'd love Carlisle, Edward."

"Sure." I shrugged, hardly fazed. It seemed that the moment I entered the conversation, things had gotten incredibly tense and uneasy. And it wasn't coming from my mother.

I studied Bella for a while, letting the two women talk before I ruined anymore of the afternoon. I was painfully aware of how I often killed any semblance of polite, social chatter, and I was perfectly content to watch the creature in front of me.

She had a tendency to stumble over her words, but she came across as a pretty stable person. She couldn't have been older than eighteen, a little younger than me. There was still roundness to her face that hinted at youth, but then again, I had the same problem. Things—simple things—embarrassed her easily, and that blush rose often as they talked. Her gaze shifted once or twice in my direction, and then that blush would darken considerably when she caught me staring at her. Mom glanced between her and I, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Bella stood abruptly, her expression complacent. "Well, I've got to get back Liz. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

"You'll be fine getting back?"

"Oh, yeah," she brushed my mother off easily, "the Newtons aren't anything to worry about; I can handle them." She flashed her a charming smile.

My mother laughed, rising as well. "Okay, Bella. You watch out for your old man, you hear me?"

"Sure, sure. Bye Liz," her gaze met mine for a second, "Edward." And then she was out the door before I could even politely extend the good-bye.

I could feel my mother's eyes on the back of my head, and swiveled to face her. She had that knowing look on her face, the kind that made me think she knew something of importance and wasn't telling me what it was. Just like on Christmas Eve when your parents keep alluding to what you're getting without fully telling you what it is. As frustrating as that had been, this had to be ten times worse; because, unlike then, I had no clue what she was being so 'knowing' _about_.

"What?" I asked, curious.

She shook her head and started humming Elton John. It didn't escape my notice that, even with her weird tie-dye shirt and wrinkled khakis to distract me, she'd left the plate of brownies sitting right in front of me, tempting in their chocolate delight. Two minutes later, she turned on the air conditioning. The aroma wafted towards me, and I suppressed a groan—at both my mother's antics and at the turn of events of the afternoon.

I snuck two brownies back up to my room. They had strawberries in them, reminding me of summer days.

--

_August 4, 2045_

"What's it matter that there were strawberries in them?" the boy asked, completely confused. He held the journal slightly away from his nose, the loopy script on the pages making him go cross-eyed. The story had just gotten interesting, and then the guy throws in some random fact like that? The girl's brother didn't know what to make of it.

"Maybe he's foreshadowing. That's what we're learning about in school," the girl smirked, showing off to her brother, "Maybe if you paid attention instead of drooling over Mary all the time, you'd learn something!"

"Hey! I don't _drool_."

"Do so."

"Do not."

"Do so."

"Whatever." The boy refused to get into a fight with his sister over something—or some_one_—as unimportant as Mary Hale. She wasn't even that pretty, he told himself. Jeffrey, who'd gotten her to kiss him, said that she had fish lips. Totally not the right kind of girl for him to drool over, no, sir. Even if she was the cutest girl in class.

"So…do you think that's what he's doing?" the girl asked. She wasn't entirely sure she was right, and while she held her brother's opinion to very little value, there was no one else to ask. He was a boy, so if anyone's mind would be close enough to Edward's, then it had to be his.

"Maybe," he replied, "but I don't think that this guy's smart enough for that. Mom always said that the troublemakers are never smart."

"But he uses big words like—" she grabbed the book from her brother, turning the pages back, "—PAH-RIF-ER-ALLS."

"That's not how you say it, dummy."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"I bet he's smart." She had grown attached to the journal--and its author--already. She didn't like to think that the boy whose head was so clouded with silly thoughts of careers and mothers wasn't smart enough to foreshadow in his own journal. Her teacher always told her that the details—always the details—were what mattered in stories that foreshadowed. She said that you had to look carefully to find them in any story, and often you wouldn't realize it until you'd read the entire thing.

But the boy's sister had a feeling she was right, and that it had something to do with this new girl, Bella.

Now, even at twelve and knowing that she obviously had no chance with this boy since he was long gone; the girl felt stirrings of jealousy. The way Edward had described Bella and how he felt was different from what the boys at school acted like. They all made fun of the girls; unless they were gorgeous, like Mary Hale. The girl didn't want Edward to like this Bella, and she had a feeling that he would.

"Do you want to read more?" her brother asked her hesitantly. He fiddled with the belt around his waist, unable to look his sister in the eyes. He knew that if he did she would slam him with the "I told you so" speech, saying how it was more exciting than he made it out to be. Now that Bella had been introduced, the boy wanted to see if Edward had the same reaction he did when Mary would ask to borrow his pencil in class.

The girl sighed, fingering the leather of the journal, contemplating. Did she _want _to see Bella weasel her way into Edward's heart?

"Nah. Let's go find Em and get together a scout troop for hide and seek."

"Oh. Okay."

And off they went.


	4. Abstract

Hey guys, thanks for the reviews! They make me smile. (:

_**Mav**_ is awesome. She catches things that I don't.

**Disclaimer**: Twilight and all its inclusive material are copyright to Stephenie Meyer; I do not own any aspect of the series nor do I make that claim. Also, this Disclaimer was borrowed from _Leon McFrenchington_, an awesome-tastic writer.

Original creations of this story, including, but not limited to, characters, settings, and plot, are copyright to me.

* * *

**The Final Melody**

**Abstract**

_"I don't date sociology majors," she said immediately._

_He shrugged. "Lucky for you, I'm undecided."_

_"About what?"_

_"Everything."_

_--Remember Me, March 12, 2010

* * *

_

_June 23, 2010_

She came over every day.

It wasn't like I wanted to notice or anything, but her presence was just too hard to ignore. She'd come into the house, all energy, loquacious enough to get even my mother to shut up and listen to someone else for once. Sometimes I eavesdropped, learning little bits and pieces about my childhood home that had changed. Other times I locked myself in my room, staring out at the slow moving creek until I heard the front door shut, and that ancient truck of hers drive back down the gravel.

Bella Swan had to be the most complicated woman I had ever had the pleasure to meet. She loved to bake, but told my mother that she was never very good at it. She hated sports, claiming that she was a hazard to people on two legs, and yet I'd caught her in more than enough jerseys and sweatshirts that said otherwise. There was never a self-conscious vibe springing from her when I was in the room; rather, she seemed too relaxed, almost as if she couldn't care less if I saw her with wild hair and ratty sweatpants.

She was a puzzle I couldn't figure out.

If anything, I'd learned over the years that I—maybe a little too subconsciously—have a habit of becoming obsessed with difficult problems. Maybe that was why I'd never given up my rather large amount of schoolwork while I was doing the internship—I'd convinced myself that it wasn't impossible. That I could do it, no matter how few hours there seemed to be in the day.

Therefore, I recognized it when I found myself glancing out the window as Bella's truck rolled to a stop outside the garage. This had to stop, I told myself. It wasn't rational, or even _normal_ for me to have such an incessant need to understand a teenage girl whom had probably lived in Forks—tiny, insignificant Forks—all her life.

I could hear them talking, laughing, and her voice drifted up to me in my room as I stood and paced, tugging at my hair. I would go insane from living there, I knew I would. Nothing—not even my stack of CDs—could help drown out the voice in my head that kept screaming at me _Get out! Get out! Get out! _I _knew _that it was a terrible idea to come visit my mom—I'd told my father that he should have paid for her to go down and visit _us_. But Liz was adamant that she would do no such thing; especially if it involved my father.

My feet dragged me from wall to window, my eyes flickering from the tree line down to her rusty, orange truck and back again. I had a headache, the dull pounding making it hard to concentrate on anything except the odd itch of my fingers. They tapped against my sides, irritated, as if they had a mind of their own. As if they longed to write out their own frustrations, something I hadn't let them do in four years.

I sighed, running another agitated hand through my hair. I couldn't comprehend why this was having such an effect on me; it was only a few months to spend with my odd, harebrained mother, and then I was back in Chicago, where I was supposed to be.

So why, then, did the thought make me internally cringe?

--

I took a nap, my mind leaving me too weary to adventure out of the house that day. Mom hadn't really cared the past few days where I went, as long as I came back in time to help set out dinner, and clean up afterwards. To be honest, I didn't really do much, except to stick the dishes into the dishwasher and rinse out a few pots and pans, leaving them in the sink to be cleaned in the morning. It's what I did, and mom never complained about it. Despite that fact, every time I did so, I walked away with a guilty conscience, like I was somehow cheating myself or my mother.

I glanced at the clock, finding it hard to believe that I'd merely slept for an hour and fifteen minutes. It felt like a lifetime, my mind wandering aimlessly inside the confines of my dreamless state. It was peaceful there, uninterrupted by the plagues of real life.

Stretching, I rolled onto my stomach, turning my head away from the window. There was a vent on the floor by my bedside table that ran along through the house, connecting with the kitchen and following that along to the basement. Therefore, it wasn't that hard to hear what my mom and Bella were still talking about, even an hour later.

"…it was hard on him, I knew it would be," I could hear her say.

Bella's voice was softer, lighter. "That doesn't make it right, Liz."

"But I hadn't done anything to try and see him, or go to him—"

"You wrote to him," Bella pointed out. With a sickening feeling, I realized they were talking about _me_; about how I'd reacted when my parents had gotten divorced. My mother felt guilty, just as I did. The thought made the food in my stomach stir restlessly.

"I didn't try hard enough."

"Don't kid yourself, Liz. You tried, and for what it's worth, that was more than my mother ever bothered to do."

"I'm sorry, Bella, I didn't mean to bring up something unpleasant."

"It's fine," she responded. And I knew, if I had been in the room with them, she would have lifted her hand in that way that she did when she was brushing my mother off. Because that's just how Bella was: always worried about my mother, even when it wasn't her job to be.

"I just wish things had worked out between his father and I. Edward had so much fire in him back then… I'm afraid that I've burnt it all out."

I closed my eyes. I knew what she was talking about, and I really wished that she wouldn't. As much as I loved my mother, some things didn't need to be brought up again. There was too much pain in the past, too much hurt over something that I had deemed completely and utterly my fault, so much so that I never wanted to reenter those memories again. There were worse things in the world, but in my life, that period had been my darkest days. It was a time that had been blocked from my thoughts for years now, and I wasn't too keen on opening that drawer right at that moment.

"I'm sure he knows how you feel." _I do now_, I thought wryly, burying my face in my pillow. _Stupid, stupid girl…_

"Did you know he got into Julliard?" _Oh, God. She knew?_

"…no, I didn't. You never mentioned it to me."

"He's so talented. He had been playing since he was six years old—applied last year because his father made him. He told me he found the acceptance letter in his room."

"So he's going? That's great for him."

"…Edward's father found it in the trash, Bella."

"What? Why?" _Because I can't live up to their expectations. _

My mother sighed, and I heard the faint sound of glass coming down on the table. "I don't know. As soon as his father approached him about it, Edward took off, wasn't heard from for days on end. He came back looking like he'd just seen Hell, apparently."

Silence accompanied her statement.

Silence occupied my brain.

Silence screamed at me that I'd fucked up, and now I had to fix it.

I told silence to go to hell.

--

My father and mother had been happy at one time, I guessed. They used to hold hands, and kiss each other until I was sufficiently grossed out, even at the age of twelve, when other girls had started becoming appealing to me. I hadn't understood back then how great it was to have parents who were so in love with each other that it was almost sickening.

I wished I had that back, because right then, I would have given anything in the world to have them together again. To be seven years old and go crying to my mother, complaining about how dad wouldn't let me go to the office with him. To have that same mother carry me in to my father and plop me down on their bed, and then join me as we pounced on him until he gave in, laughing.

But the day that my father told my mother he didn't want to see her face in his house ever again was the day when the idea that love always prevailed died within me.

--

_June 24, 2010_

"You want me to _what?_" I snapped, turning around and almost dropping the omelet I was cooking. Mom had been humming, boiling eggs for her own breakfast, and then casually mentioned—almost under her breath—that I should get a job.

She repeated this. "You've been wandering around here like a ghost. You've always been too much of an introvert, so I'm staging an intervention."

"This is your idea of an intervention?" My eyebrows rose incredulously, slapping the pan down onto the stove with a little too much force. "You want me to get a job?"

"Nothing huge," she shook her head, pursing her lips, "Just something small that would keep you busy. I can tell you're bored enough around here, and seeing as you don't find the task of cleaning the house enough to occupy you, you'll just have to find something else. A job is a great way to meet new people, too."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, squinting my eyes in frustration. It had only been a few weeks, and already she was tired of my 'moping' around, as my father would call it. She probably couldn't stand the sight of me, especially after what I'd heard from her talk with Bella. How could she even stand to play house with her disappointment of a son?

She turned up the radio, sensing my growing irritation.

"_Blue moon…you saw me standin' alone. Without a dream in my heart…without a love of my own._" She worked her way around the kitchen, wiping a countertop here, pushing the mail there, and all the while singing that damned Elvis Presley song. I grabbed the keys to the Volvo, knowing that I would have never been able to stand the summer with my mother if she acted any other way.

--

It took me all of fifteen minutes to navigate the streets of Forks and find that there was nothing of significance. The only places that would even be open or accepting applications were the Newton's store, and the local fish market. I hated fish. As far as I could tell, I wasn't going to be working with Bella or blond-haired bimbo any time soon.

I drove out to the Res, hoping to find something there.

I drove past Sue Clearwater's house, remembering Leah's tantrum and the women's discussion. It seemed like years ago that I had been there; slumping into a weary peach couch and pouting like a six year old at a childhood pest must have made it seem that way.

The roads were busy today, people moving in a normal enough fashion to make me think that there might be life inside Forks besides my mother and Bella and I. Most of the cars I passed carried middle-aged people or younger teens, just learning how to put their hands on the wheel. A few looked to be around my age, their russet skin showing off their heritage.

I took my time wandering around. It was nice enough that I could have walked, but I was reluctant to leave my Volvo again. The few times I was allowed out in it were precious to me, despite how little I wanted to go 'out' in the first place.

And suddenly, there it was. The same sign that I had first seen on my drive up to Sue's, the very one that I had laughed at, quietly to myself because it was so ridiculous. The same sign that seemed so fitting at that moment that I parked the car, yanked the keys out of the ignition, and strode up to the piece of cardboard, ready to drop to my knees in prayer at what the fine detail read:

_If you're not afraid of heights, are patient and have no self-preservation whatsoever, feel free to apply for a job as an instructor. _

It was written in pink sharpie, small enough that the eye couldn't read it from far away. It was quirky and demanding, but I decided that I didn't care. If they wanted someone to throw themselves off a cliff and teach others to it correctly as well, I was a willing candidate. The only problem now was trying to find out how to do that, exactly.

The shack wasn't boarded up anymore, and after a while I could see that they were open, a huddle of thirteen year olds watching, wide-eyed as a blond haired man demonstrated how to _not _hit the rocks that waited below them. One of the only girls in the group paled considerably when he motioned to grab a wetsuit and follow him to a low-lying cliff—low enough and far enough from the rocks that it wouldn't be any real danger to them.

A high pitched voice trilled close to me, making me jump out of my skin. "Shit!" I muttered, stumbling away from the tiny little girl next to me. I hadn't even seen her come over.

"You want a job or what?" She cocked her hip to the side, her eyes narrowing considerably at me, as if I was a snake that might hiss at her. Sizing her up, I gathered that her attitude compensated for how much she lacked in height. I bet even a snake wouldn't want to cross her path.

"Uh, yeah, sure?" _Please don't hurt me._

She smiled brightly, waving her hand at me to follow. Her tiny legs moved her faster than I'd ever seen anyone move before. She had dark, dark hair, black almost, and cut so short that all she could do was gel it out in separate directions. She wore cut off shorts and a tank top, showing off how small her frame really was. Yet, despite these physical attributes, she came across clear as day when she yelled, "You're not going to get hired moving as slow as that!"

I hustled after her.

"So you got a name, or what?" she asked, pushing open a door to the shack with a flick of her foot. The inside was dark and damp, and smelled a lot like mildew. When I didn't answer, she raised an eyebrow, her lips thinning.

I cleared my throat. "Edward."

"Great. I'm Alice. So, do you have any experience with cliff diving?"

"I did it for years when I was a kid."

She nodded, searching through a stack of papers and shuffling on the sand covered floor. "Are you good with kids?"

"Guess so."

"What about elderly people?"

"Elderly people cliff dive?"

"Good answer." Alice smirked, making a small _a-ha! _noise under her breath when she unearthed a small packet of papers stapled together in the corner. They had small, fine point print with a lot of blanks after them. I guessed that they were application forms, and was proven right when she thrust one into my hand, skirting under my elbow and towards the counter.

"You're hired. Fill that form out and leave it on that stool right there. Your first day starts tomorrow and our manager will meet with you to fill in the details. She's relatively easy-going, so don't be afraid." Alice moved back around me, snatching a pair of flip flops from the corner and throwing them out onto the sun-scorched sand in front of the shack. Promptly after that, she leaned out the window and yelled in the loudest voice, "_Keep your shit out of my shack, Jasper! That's what the lockers are for!_"

"Right," I said, nodding and backing out the door. To say that this Alice frightened me would be an understatement. From what I could see, she had no problem with making her views known or her position on matters clear, had an extremely odd temperament, and managed to get me a job in less than ten minutes. She—obviously—was a force to be reckoned with.

Her brilliant smile flashed back at me as she grabbed a purse hiding in a discreet corner. It looked designer, just as I figured it would be. "Be here at ten. Good luck, see you tomorrow, Edward." She started past me, then stopped, and turned. "Oh, and if you see Jasper put his shoes in there again, tell him I'll castrate him, alright?"

I swallowed thickly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Awesome," she grinned.

I almost ran back to my car with the application form still in my hands.

--

That night, I slept restlessly again. I dreamed about a movie, one I had seen a theatrical trailer for months ago when I was still in the city. It was about a troubled guy trying to get his life back together when he met a girl who was the daughter of a cop who had arrested him. She taught him how to love again, how to live life. But one thing stuck in my head, the one thing that kept repeating itself over and over as the movie trailer played in my head again and again.

At the beginning of the scene, the guy's voice comes out loud and clear. He says, with a certain conviction, "_Gandhi said that whatever you do in life will be insignificant. But it's very important that you do it._" He stops, and I can nearly see my father and I, arguing over college, and my mother and him fighting over life, and Bella arguing with me that I'm worthless. That I've done nothing but destroy my mother and her relationship with my father.

And then he continues.

"_I tend to agree with the first part._"

Finally, someone who understands…and he's a fictional character.

_Damn it._

--

_August 5, 2045_

"He uses cuss words," the boy pointed the obvious out, frowning at the page before him. His mother had always taught him that it wasn't polite, nor accepted in their household to use the words that some adults use when they get angry. He'd said them once, and that was all it took for his mother to nearly blow her gasket and yell at him for using such ugly sayings. He'd never done anything like that ever again.

His sister, however, rolled her eyes. "He's nineteen. He can do whatever he wants, stupid." She, of course, wasn't one to always abide by her mother's rules. The cool kids at school all said words like _crap_ and _damn_ and if that's what it took for her to get Tommy Brandon to love her, then she would do it. No need in pretending that she was the good girl any longer when boys like him were out on the prowl, she thought smugly.

"I like Alice, though."

The girl thought about it, then shrugged. "Yeah, she's cool, I guess. Kind of bossy, if you ask me."

"I think that's the point."

"Whatever. I just hope she keeps Bella away from Edward."

The boy smirked, sitting up from his position on the couch. "Why? You got a crush on a guy that's probably dead by now?"

"No," the girl denied, but her blushing face gave her away. "I just don't like her, that's all. She's too nosy."

"Liz was just telling her that because she has no one else to talk to. I bet everyone shuns her because of Edward."

"He's not _that _bad," she argued, throwing a haughty look at her brother and snatching the journal away from him. "He's just misunderstood. He doesn't want people to tell him what to do anymore."

"Or maybe he needs to suck it up and grow up. He's just like Carol when she doesn't get what she wants. And she's _five_."

The girl pouted, caressing the spine of the leather delicately. She ignored her brother's jabs and focused on Edward, wondering how it was possible that someone so perfect for her could have existed in another time. She sighed longingly.

"I feel bad for him though," the boy said suddenly. His sister quirked an eyebrow in a _what are you talking about? _sort of way. "Sure, he's got his mom," he explained lightly, staring at the ceiling, "but what happens to him when she goes away, and he doesn't have anyone to love him—just _because_—anymore?"

The girl really didn't know the answer to that question.


	5. Animosity

Wow, thanks for the great response last chapter, guys! Sorry this didn't get out sooner--Edward's giving me a hard time. :P

Triple, super awesome thanks to **_Mav_**, my beta, who busted her chops to get this to me when I asked her to. You rock, hun. (:

**Disclaimer**: Twilight and all its inclusive material are copyright to Stephenie Meyer; I do not own any aspect of the series nor do I make that claim. Also, this Disclaimer was borrowed from _Leon McFrenchington_, an awesome-tastic writer.

Original creations of this story, including, but not limited to, characters, settings, and plot, are copyright to me.

* * *

**The Final Melody**

**Animosity**

_"Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything. They just cry over their condition. But when they get angry, they bring about a change."__  
__--Malcom X, 1965

* * *

_

_June 25, 2010_

I breathed deeply. The air infiltrated my lungs with the burning familiarity of the ocean breeze and gentle summer mornings, the promise of a full day edging closer with each second. Warmth flooded over me on that rare day that the sun had come out, having decided that it would grace the people of Forks with its presence. I wanted to believe that it was one of its few yearly visits, and maybe coming out of my shell had inspired it to do so, too.

The water was surprisingly calm that day. No breaking waves dared to enter the rocky outcrop that endangered any cliff diver below, and the wind was gentle enough that it didn't take away from the dry day that was given to us. I scuffed my foot in the sand, my mind empty.

It wasn't until I heard the distinct sound of a car pulling up beside me that I looked around. I'd been in a daze all morning, hardly able to communicate with my mother about my new job, and just barely managed to throw my body under the spray of the shower head. I was sluggish with a lack of sleep induced by my constant and persistent worries over the future. That day wouldn't come soon enough for me.

The moment that I turned around, I wished I hadn't. Everyone in Forks could recognize Bella Swan's truck even if they were blind. It was the loudest thing you'd ever heard, and probably the most obnoxious looking car by far. Though I didn't doubt its capabilities—okay, well, maybe I did—I imagined that even back in its day it was a monster compared to the others. I couldn't fathom what would possess that girl to take on such a hunk of junk.

So, while I stared, slack-jawed at my new manager, she proceeded to march right up to the shabby little shack, unlock the door, and then roll the metal window up. Her eyes flickered to mine, questioning, wondering what I was doing there. She obviously didn't feel the need to personally ask me with words, and for some reason, that irked me to no end.

I stomped over to the shack.

"Hello," I said uncomfortably when she looked up. Even to me, my smile was entirely too faked.

Bella favored me with the same greeting. "Hey."

"So, are you the manager?"

"It depends on who's asking," she replied, her eyes guarded. It must have been apparent to her by then that I was the new employee, despite what Alice might have told her. Or not told her. I didn't know—Alice was…different. From my one encounter with her, I imagined the summer job would be more dramatic than I expected.

I sighed, leaning on the counter and mumbling, "Someone who needs a job."

She stared at me for a few seconds, oddly still and unwavering. I felt that same feeling as before, the one where it seemed as if she could stare right through me, see all of my insides without my permission. As if I was made of nothing more than the flimsy film some people believe our souls are, and she was reading me like a book.

Finally, she cast her beautifully dark eyes downward and shrugged. Her hands, however, twitched nervously around a towel.

"Alright. Well," she drew the word out, not looking me in the face fully, "let's get started. Grab that rope over there by your foot."

Stepping back a little in surprise, I grabbed the worn looking thing, holding it up for her appraisal. She raised her eyebrows and nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

"What are we going to do with this?"

"Oh," she shrugged me off, as if I were my mother, "you'll see."

--

The thing about work is that it's hard.

Up until that point in my life, I don't think that I'd ever really worked as much as I did on that one day down at the shack. You'd think that it would be a simple job, waiting around for kids to show up for some reckless and unsafe sport, but no—there was actual _labor _involved. It was like a child slave union had been created overnight in that one insignificant spot in that one, tiny insignificant city in Washington.

We didn't just wait around. Bella showed me how to tie knots in the ropes that we would use to lower ourselves down over the rocks and chip in footholds for emergencies. Then we had to do a couple of practice runs over in the smaller coves for the younger children that wanted to attempt extreme sports. When kids _did _show up, we had to give them a fifteen-minute run-through course on how to jump and what to do if they got caught in the swells. After that, they had to take home a piece of paper and get their parent's signature before they could do anything else. She also made me clean up the shack, which wasn't the easiest job in the world—I think I found a three-week old sandwich stuffed between flippers in a corner.

By around two o'clock, I was sweaty, exhausted, and ready to quit. Not only had Bella rarely spoken to me—except to explain what my job was or how to do something—but the thought of doing what I had just done every single day for the next two to three months was tiring in its own right. I would be dead before I could even being contemplating the number of ropes I'd have to tie and untie.

Panting, I collapsed on the ground in the shade of the shack, cursing the sun that smiled down upon me. I would've rather had the rain, or clouds, even.

"Stupid, meddling mother of mine," I mumbled to myself. It had become apparent in my trek down the rocks that she'd done this on purpose. This 'intervention' wasn't really an 'intervention' at all. She knew that I wouldn't want to work at Newton's, and the few places I was willing to work would be nearly forty five minutes out. The only choice I really had was somewhere on the Res, and knowing my mother, she'd have been the one to strategically place the sign for me to see it when I drove by Sue's house.

For some reason, my mom wanted me to get to know Bella Swan.

However, watching as she bent over to fix the rusting nozzle on the water hose, it was obvious that she was doing just fine without me. Plus, she'd been giving me weird, almost dirty looks the entire afternoon. I didn't know what that was about, but it made my blood boil under the rays of light shining down on us.

Bella made me feel conflicted. I wanted to know more about her, but at the same time, she made it impossible to. Any question that I'd ever asked that steered near what she was like as a person—that I didn't already know, of course—was diverted back to me, or to the task at hand. Irksome as it was, I realized when I was being put off, and I didn't like it. For some reason, Bella had issues with me, and I wasn't exactly eager to find out the reason.

Speak—or think, is more like it—of the devil, and she shall appear.

"Tired?" she asked, clearly knowing the answer. It was almost painful to me to watch as her eyes crinkled at the corners, a knowing smile stretching across her features. By no means did she look presentable then, caked in dirt with bandages lacing up her legs and arms from cuts on the rocks, and a developing sunburn, but if it were possible, it made her look even more enticing to me. She wasn't perfect, and no one asked her to be.

"Exceptionally," I replied wryly.

Flopping onto the ground beside me, she upended the bottle of water she'd had in her hand. I licked my lips, shutting my eyes and leaning my head back against the wonderful breeze blowing in from the cliffs.

Quiet descended for a moment. And then…

"So," she said, "will you be coming back tomorrow?"

Bella suspected that I couldn't hear the hope in her voice. Not for me to come back, but for me to quit right then and there, to run away screaming bloody murder. I was not going down without a fight, especially if a girl wanted me to quit a job she could so easily handle by herself.

Pretending that I was debating it, I pursed my bottom lip.

"Yeah," I finally drawled, opening my eyes to watch her own narrow in suspicion. "I'll be back tomorrow." I shot her a lazy smile, noticing how it didn't affect her the way it normally did women. Damn. Tough cookie, that's for sure.

"Good." Bella stretched her legs out, then her arms above her head. She attempted to tame her wildly messy hair into a more practical bun. It didn't hold.

She sighed, turning to sit cross legged in front of me. The seriousness in her face told me that she was probably about to give me a speech I wasn't really willing to hear. My feet itched to run in the other direction as soon as she opened her mouth.

"Look, Edward," she started, trying to keep eye contact and failing, "it's not that I don't like you."

Shooting her an incredulous look, I sat up. She immediately backtracked, holding her hands up in defense. She had the right mind to look a little guilty.

"Okay, well, maybe I don't. But it's hard to like someone that you know is pretty much a spoiled brat."

"_Excuse me?_" I coughed out, unable to believe my ears. My face burned in humiliation at the accusation that had just been hurled at me. Was this little goody-two-shoes telling me how to act?

Now she was riled. Her eyes got this fiery look to them, and seeing as no one else was around, she took the liberty of raising her voice, too.

"It's just hard for me to understand how such a privileged person can really be so opposed to the best things in his life." Could she _be _any more self-righteous?

Huffing, I crossed my arms over my chest and lowered my eyes to my feet. A cowardly move, but it was reasonable to act offended, I think. "It's hard for _me _to understand how someone so small can be so pretentious."

_Oh, shit._ I'd done it now.

"Pretentious? _Pretentious? Me?! _You're an arrogant asshole! You want everything handed to you on a silver platter! You have a mother who's _dying _to be a part of your life, and you shove her away—not to mention whatever else you have waiting for you back wherever you came from."

She paused to take a breath, her face red from the exertion. My own mouth opened to defend myself, thoroughly pissed off now, but she slapped a hand across my face before I could do so, silencing whatever I'd been about to say. Her palms were sticky and smelled like vanilla.

"And you know what's really sad? The fact that you so obviously feel as if the world owes you. A lot of people get divorced, Edward, and I'm sorry that you feel as if you've been wronged because of it. But since you're a grown boy—nineteen years old and all—you need to suck it up, and stop acting like you're five. I don't think Liz can take one more day of the guilt trip you've been laying on her."

"Fucking-A!" I spat, shoving her hand away from my face and stumbling upright. She stood as well, hardly coming to my chest and making her look several times smaller than she had just appeared in her rant.

I hadn't asked for her to comment on my life. I knew that she knew of certain aspects of it that I'd rather she not have, but that didn't give her any leverage to begin to talk to me about it. There were absolutely no boundaries when it came to this girl, and I wasn't going to lie down and take that.

"You have _no idea _what my life has been like. You don't have the right to _judge my life_ the way you just did," I hissed. "Don't assume you know all of the details just because my mother can't keep her mouth shut, even for a prissy little seventeen year old girl."

Her hand came flying out to smack me before I could even react. Then she was stalking away to her truck, slamming the rusty door shut with as much force as that hit. Shocked, I winced from the burn, rubbing my cheek as I watched her speed away from the shack, clearly trying to decide whether to flip me the bird or not.

She didn't.

Even back then, I'd kind of wished that she had.

A few minutes later, Alice showed up in a flashy car. Oblivious to what had just happened in the very spot she was standing; she graced me with a rather large grin and a pose. "So, how'd the first day go, comrade?"

I glowered.

Taken aback, she whistled, raising her eyebrows. "Bella strikes again."

--

The moment I shuffled into the house I could hear her singing. I didn't know if Bella was there, but I really hoped that she wasn't. It would make it only that much harder for me to keep my composure after the long day that I'd had.

"_Now and then, there's a fool such as I am over you. You taught me how to love now you say that we are through. I'm a fool but I'll love you dear until the day I die. Now and then, there's a fool such as I._"

She wasn't happy. She wasn't singing because she was in her newly fashioned mood, not because she wanted to cheer me up. She was singing because she was sad, and I had a feeling that I had made her that way.

Thinking back on the day, and what I'd said to Bella, I knew I'd been wrong to do it. Talking about my mother like that…it was low, even for an asshole like me. I'd never disrespected her before in my life—but when the time arose for me to truly prove myself to a bystander who knew entirely too much, I'd failed.

I could hear her soft cries as I neared the kitchen door. Running water drowned out Presley's voice for a second or two, and then sounded up again, my mom's quiet, nasally hums trying to keep rhythm with him.

I peeked inside.

She was sitting at the table, the overhead chandelier casting what light it could on her and the photo album she was pouring over. I knew right then that it was our family album, something that she had kept since before I could even remember. I hadn't realized that when she'd moved out, she'd taken that along with her.

Judging by the number of tissues littering the area surrounding her body, she'd been sitting there for quite a while. The kitchen was pristine, as always, so she must have cleaned it sometime while I was out at my job. Dinner wasn't waiting like it usually was, and for some reason, I was glad that it wasn't.

She didn't turn around, though she heard my heavy footsteps. I knelt beside her, ignoring her actions when she tried to turn her swollen face away from me. It was so unbelievably hard to see her like that, but looking back on it now, I knew that I needed to. I'd caused so much pain in my mother's life over those past four years, simply because I couldn't deal with my own. I was nowhere near ready to do that, but I _was _willing to make things better for her.

Sadly, I met her eyes. She swallowed thickly, her eyes rimmed red—a very reflection of myself, age ten. It was uncanny how much we were alike.

"Am I really that terrible?" I whispered, my voice breaking. My chest hurt; something inside was being constricted under the cement of a lost relationship between mother and son.

"No, no, no," she cooed, trying to consul me. I carefully slid out from beneath her hands, desperate to make this right and not have her be the one to pity me. She, thankfully, took the hint and winced, looking away from me.

"You look so much like your father did," she said. It was so weak that I barely caught it. My gaze darted down to the photos in front of us, reading over the laughter in my father's face and the joy in my mother's.

"And I act just like he does, too." Standing, I kissed her forehead, hugging her small, frail body to mine. "Bella Swan was right," I mumbled, the words tasting like vinegar on my tongue.

My mother laughed through her tears, patting my arm assuredly. "She usually is. That's just the kind of person she can be."

"Yeah, well, I don't like it."

"Not a lot of people do."

"She knew all along that I would apply there, didn't she?" I questioned, settling my head on top of hers.

Liz hesitated. "Yes."

_Figures_. "Does she hate me? Because of how I treated you?"

"Edward—"

I sighed. "Yeah. I know. And now I have to fix it." I looked down at her nose, squeezing her tightly. "And you."

Laughter bubbled up in her throat, shaking her body silently. After a moment, I couldn't distinguish between the laughter or her sobs.

--

_August 6, 2045_

The girl frowned. "He sure did patch things up with his mom fast."

"It's 'cuz he's a pansy. He can't do anything without his mom. She had to help him get a job!" her brother accused, pointing at the leather-bound journal like it was a thing of sin.

She sat upright, slamming the book shut. "You don't even have a job, so you can't say anything."

"Can so."

"Cannot."

"Can so."

"Cannot."

"He's probably known that he was doing something wrong, and all he had to do was let her know that he wanted to fix things," he suddenly blurted, having an epiphany. "He didn't really 'fix' things, but he wants to. I bet it's because he wants to kiss Bella Swan."

Horrified at this possibility, the girl suddenly looked at the book with a bit of disgust. Bella Swan was not the type of girl he should have been interested in. She'd insulted him and caused him more pain than he was willing to show, and that was _not _okay in her book.

"I _hate _Bella Swan." The animosity that radiated from the small pre-teen didn't go unnoticed by the other occupant in the room. He raised his eyebrows immediately, snatching the book from her small hands and skimming through the pages that they'd read.

"He skips a lot of stuff, I think. I mean, it _is_ a journal, so he could have just gotten to the juicy parts of his day instead of filling in on the details. _You_ do that when you're trying to get me in trouble."

The girl stuck out her tongue in a show of rebellion.

"I still don't like her," she said again, anger dissipating as she realized that maybe Edward didn't like her after all. He'd said that he didn't like how she was right, so maybe…

Her brother snorted, thumbing a worn page. "Whatever. Edward likes her so much, even Alice noticed."

"What did she mean by 'Bella strikes again'?"

"Dunno. Bella probably does that to people all the time—telling them stuff they don't want to hear, I mean."

"Maybe."

"Yeah."

The girl looked at her brother, whom gazed right back at her. They both understood that the other wanted to keep reading, if only for their own reasons.

"I think she's scared."

"I think she is, too."

It was so easy for those children to grasp this simple fact about Isabella Swan; and yet, they couldn't comprehend how Edward didn't seem to be able to.

* * *

_Review for me?_


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